


The Cracks of the Past

by Fluffy_Leech



Category: CountryHumans, Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Relationships, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Very Slow to Update, english is not my first language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffy_Leech/pseuds/Fluffy_Leech
Summary: As much every country wants to, forgetting the past is impossible. It's especially hard for those who were scarred in the process. And when one nation is tasked to uncover the mysteries three others have kept hidden, or suffer surly fatal consequences, he discovers not all is as it seems.The stories told, rumours spread, and history did not mention any of this.No one was ready to learn the raw truth.Especially not the way they did.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Germany

Germany was scared.  
It wasn't the lightning that danced through the sky nor the crashes of thunder that followed suit, though admittedly he was somewhat nervous about it. No, It was something much worse. Someone much worse.

Soviet and British troops apparently had been reported to be surrounding the bunker he and his father had been occupying for the past few weeks. How they got the location of it in the first place was still a mystery though he suspected there to be a traitor in Third Reich’s forces. Stupid. Why of all times had this ‘raid’ been scheduled now? It wasn't like the two occupants of this place, one being a mere child, could do anything to truly defend this hellhole. But no. like always the people outside his wonderful homeland had to escalate the situation to extreme measures. Typical.

Another flash of light illuminated the angry sky, filling his room with light, and temporarily blinding the young Germanic country. As much as he disliked the current weather, he had to admit it was good timing. Oh how miserable the enemy must be. It brought him a small bit of joy to these dark times. Nothing like a good electric storm to welcome you into the Fatherlands.

CRASH! The sudden presence of thunder made the small country jump then cower further into the nest of blankets that currently encompassed him. How many seconds had that been? Certainly not more than one, maybe two at the very most. The heart of the storm was basically over them.

Another ten minutes of watching the outside came and went. Nothing changed. The storm still raged on, angry at the earth, and the feeling of impending doom continued to linger heavy in the air. The German sucked in a breath and waited for the rumble that was soon to come. He didn't even have to hold it. The loud bang, much like that of a gun, reverberated through the complex, shaking the ground in its wake, and causing his teeth to rattle.

He had had enough.

Before he could question his actions, Germany threw off the cocoon of fabric, yeeted the pair of glasses that had previously resided on the side table to his face, and jumped off his bed only to scramble right back on. Why was the floor so damn cold? Whatever. He could live with that. Sliding off the edge, this time cautiously as not to give his bare feet frostbite, he made his way to the dresser that stood along the edge of the room. 

His father didn't like to see him, or anyone for that matter, in nightclothes or underdressed. He had never quite understood his view on that, something about being professional and respecting others, though Third Reich had not elaborated off of it. The one time anyone questioned him about that, his only response was “Old habit. It will die soon enough.” In the years that followed it had not in fact dissipated, but more so grown.  
The clothing folded in the top shelf of his dresser stared back at him. White pants, black shirt, black overcoat, shoes, socks, belt, all black. The entire uniform was an inky color. No that wasn't true. The arm patch was different. Red thread stood out from the monotone fabric like a sore thumb. And now as Germany stood in front of the mirror checking to make sure everything was clean and orderly, he had second thoughts. Father probably didn't want to be bothered, especially now with reports of an impending attack. He had enough weighing him down at the moment without having to comfort a small child. With a soft sigh the young boy turned away from the reflective surface and made his way to the room's exit.

The bunker was somewhat terrifying in the dark. Every corridor was devoid of any sort of decoration, giving the whole place an abandoned feel to it. That of course was not the case. Even with the self reassurance it still felt uncomfortable wandering the halls. Left, right, past the offshoot, another left, until he came to the door that led into his father’s quarters. And here he stopped, not sure whether or not he really should be bothering the man who had taken care of him since before recollection. On one hand, both of them needed a little comfort, Reich from Germany’s cheerful disposition, and Germany from Reich’s physical comfort, but on the other, Father needed time alone. Time to think up something that would save them from death.

Germany’s hand sat, wrapped around the smooth metal doorknob, unmoving. The conflict in his mind combined with the constant flash bang of weather outside was pressuring him to open the door, run inside, and bury himself within fathers grasp, but the logical half of him was rebutting the very thought. Would he be waking Third Reich up? There was a light shining out from under the door so the presumption would be he was awake. With a final sigh, Germany opened the door and slipped inside.

At first glance everything was in order. The room and all of its contents were straightened, dusted, and positioned in such a way it looked like a museum exhibit. Books lined the shelves, pillows on the two armchairs were fluffed, the only thing off about the space was a single glass bottle, contents unknown, resting on the tea table. And there, standing in the center of the room, back to the door, was the man himself.

Third Reich wasn't moving, or at least not pacing he had expected him to be. In fact he didn't seem stressed or frustrated in the slightest. Strange. And what was he holding? An… envelope? What did Reich need an envelope for? He was about to run up to his dad and hug him, be comforted by him, love him, when the older man’s head snapped up. The young boy startled and jumped back to the cold cement wall, fearing he had given out his presence.

He hadn’t. At least to current knowledge.

Reich gave a long, quiet sigh and walked up to his own dresser, placed the envelope on it, then, wordlessly backed away. Once again, he occupied the room's center. Not once did he turn back

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m sorry…”

The whisper seemed much too loud, despite the wind and rain and thunder that pounded relentlessly against the almost non existent silence. But what sounded even louder, impossibly loud, was the familiar ‘click’ of a gun’s magazine being loaded. What the small Germanic country had not been aware of was the pistol in Reich’s other hand. A roar of thunder permeated the walls and the black and red nation lifted his face to the ceiling.

“I’m so sorry.”

Germany's father raised his hand to his head, gun still grasped tightly within.

What was he....

Oh no.

The sudden realization as to what was going on hit him harder than a bomb. Everything felt surreal. Like a dream. A hallucination. What Germany feared the most was happening

The small, tri colored country opened his mouth, wanting desperately to say something, but no sound would escape. He appeared mute.

Another harsh click, this time the gun being cocked. 

There was a scream bubbling up inside of him.

BANG!

A flash of light.

…

The deafening crack of a gun.

no.

An arch of crimson stretching across the width of the room.

NO!

And the now lifeless body of Third Reich, crumpling to the ground.

Germany felt sick. He wanted so badly for time to rewind, back to the days neither of them had to worry about the war. Back to the time when he could have stopped what just happened. Except Reich wasn't dead. He couldn't be. All of this had just been a dream. Yeah. just a really bad, graphic nightmare. A figment of his imagination.

The sickly sweet smell of blood that wafted through the air certainly didn't seem like a dream.

Germany’s body finally allowed him to move and, without a second thought, bolted for his dad's side.

Third Reich lay on his back, glassy eyes blankly staring up to the cement ceiling. The floor beneath him, once grey, now shined back red with blood. The entire mess of things was sure to damage the surroundings but Germany didn't care. He slowly collapsed. Nothing mattered at the moment. Nothing but the body next to him.

“Daddy?”

A soft rumble of thunder was the only response. Nature’s gunshot.

Why was this happening to him? Why?

A warm coppery taste had started to spread his mouth and only now did he realize he had bitten through his lower lip. The sharp pricks of pain however were nothing compared to that of his soul. All remnants of joy and happiness had been sucked away and replaced with a growing emptiness. Every dream of a happy life living in his father's empire was thrown out and trampled. 

Silent tears rolled down the young boys face, threatening to become a storm to rival the one outside. No, he couldn't let himself sink further than he already had . Crying is a sign of weakness. And one thing he had been taught was to show no fears. Shed no tears, Show no fears. Except he was scared. Terrified even. The pep talk didn't work. What little self decency Germany had held onto throughout the past five or so minutes crumpled, and he burst into uncontrollable tears. With a shiver, he sank down onto Third Reich’s, burying his face into the rapidly cooling crook of his neck. Even the howls of outside were drowned out by his sobs. Almost. He could still hear thunder.

It was unknown how long Germany lay there, clutching Reich’s chest and sobbing. Mere minutes or hours could have passed and he would not have known. It felt more like a lifetime. Several lifetimes. And when he had exhausted himself of tears, still he embraced the body that had once housed a loved one. Finally the small country rolled off the still chest of the red, white, and black nation, and curled up on the cement ground. Care he didn't that under and around him was blood or that the floor’s temperature was sure to give him hypothermia. Nothing mattered anymore. 

He inhaled, a shaky gasp of a breath, and slid his hand under Reich’s.  
Would anyone even care if he died?

And with that, Germany closed his eyes and fell into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness, for that was all he could do.

.<_<^>_>.

“... do … son then … elf.”  
“I vouldn’t … suprised. Seems li … do.”  
“This still came as a … to me. Honestly was expecting the ol’ chap to put up a fight.”  
“Me too. If I had known zhis vould be vhat avating us, ve vould not have botherrred brrringing so much backup.”

Germany’s muscles felt stiff, and his head ached like something else. It didn't help that there was an inconsistent buzzing seemingly floating above him. Strange. Were those voices?

“Searrrch bunker. See if zhere is anything useful to us!”  
“We are not here to loot the place, mate. We came to put an end to Reich.”

Yes, those were definitely voices, however what he could make out seemed only gibberish. What were they saying? A wave of nausea pushed those questions back down into subconsciousness and he felt himself once again drifting asleep. Better passed out than violently ill.

“And he iz stopped! He killed himself and his son beforrre ve could get here!”

A thump, thump, thump pounded next to his head drawing him back out of his fading consciousness.

“Do zhey not look dead to you? Are you not happy the trrraitors arrre gone?”  
“The only ‘traitor’ was Reich. His son on the other hand, was following what he was taught. He didn't know any better.”  
“Not an excuse, Brrritain. He vas old enough to undurstand his actions.”

Britain?

Britain.

Soviet and Britain. 

Soviet and Britain, coming to invade. Coming to kill.

Everything came back in a rush. The storm. Thunder. Gunshot. Blood. And his father's body, laying on the ground, dead.

Germany’s breathing quickened and he felt a panic slowly taking over the very fibers of sanity he still retained. Standing less than half a metre away was the Nation who swore to kill him, completely oblivious to the young boy’s living presence.

“He had no say on any of this. What his family did in the past does not reflect how he will turn out!” The European’s voice has been steadily rising.  
“zou know it does.”

The tension in the room had risen to an uncomfortable level.

“Fine.”  
“Guud.”  
“Men, strrrip zhe bodies and burn zhem. Ve don't let trrrash lay around.”

A sharp jab of what only could be a steel toed boot spread through his back. A soft groan escaped his lips and he curled into a tighter ball. As if that would help.

A shout rang out through the bunker, soon replaced by the clicks of semi automatic weaponry. And then a quiet. So peaceful it was. One could almost lose himself in the sheer vastness of it all. But at the moment, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

With what little strength he could muster, Germany forced himself upward into a kneeling position. His glasses that had miraculously held on to his face all this time finally slipped off, and the clatter of glass against rock was much too loud for what it was worth. The small child raised his head upward and found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Despite knowing this would probably be the case, it still took him by surprise. Germany gasped and scrambled backwards, terror ripping through his features, evident to all who looked upon him.

“Vhat happened? Tell me or I shoot.”

Whatever had just been said had only been a mess of sounds. Threatening sounds. Oh how he wished he understood this strange language. Life at the moment would be so much easier.

“Sorry, sorry. I don't know what you said. Please don't hurt me.”

By this point he had clambered up against the corpse of his father, shivering, and trying his hardest not to vomit. 

“I told you boy, If you don't…”  
“Soviet! It’s obvious he doesn't understand us. You're just scaring the poor thing.”  
“And yoou can do betterrr.”

Germany closed his eyes and melted further down wishing once again he would disappear. The two military leaders yelling above him were soon drowned out by a growing headache. Ok, calm yourself. Slow your breathing Germs. You are not doing anyone a favour. He was running along the edge of the body, feeling every foreign crease and bend the jacket had to offer. The fabric was cold and stiff from the bloodstains, though most were not visible due to the color. His own clothes were just as dirty if not more so.

He had to force himself not to bolt when his fingers brushed up against a cool metal cylinder. The painful flashes of memory caused him to wilt, but a small shard of hope also blossomed. Maybe he could take out the people who stood before him. These people ruined his life, they would pay for it. Shifting slightly, he managed to grasp the hilt of his gun and ever so slowly shift it towards himself. Only then did it occur to him nobody was talking.

Germany allowed himself to look up at the two towering masses. Both stared down at him, one with hatred, the other with what could only be described as pity. The taller of the pair opened his mouth to no doubt berate him but the Brit got to it first.

“Germany. Can you tell us what happened here?”

The red, white, and blue man’s face was soothing in a sense. It almost made him feel guilty for what was about to happen. Keyword being almost. By this point he had managed to pull the roscoe to his side, though how he had without the two dozen armed men noticing would be a mystery most likely never to be solved. Five seconds passed… twelve… twenty one without so much as as a whisper. Finally a soldier standing next to the door cleared his throat drawing the attention away from the small Germanic country.

“Sir? May I ask why we don't try speaking to it in it’s own language? I feel that would be more effective.”  
“Rrreally? I vonder vhy ve did not think of…”  
Britain interrupted him. “That sounds like a splendid idea but none of us understand German.”

Now, while they're distracted.

Germany bolted to his feet and swung the pistol towards the two squadrons and their respective leaders, finger on the trigger, ready to fire. But something was stopping him from doing so. Was it the guilt of killing someone, or the fact the floor was tilting at an unhealthy angle? It didn't matter. Even if he was to discharge he would only take out four people max. Not even that anymore, as he was now the new target. Why didn’t he think through this a little deeper?

He was shaking, almost uncontrollably.

One, two. He was walking backwards. Get away, run, leave. They're going to kill you. Unfortunately the exit was behind enemy lines. There was nowhere to go.

“Germany! Drop the gun. We won’t hurt you if you do.”

He was trapped here, in this hell, facing certain death. There was no getting out of this. Actually no, there was an escape. Reich had taken it. Sure, it still resulted in certain death, but at least it would be on his own terms.

“Drrrop. It.”

His father was dead, the complex had been infiltrated, and now here he was, standing in the middle of it all. What did he have left to fight for? Nothing. It didn't matter whether he lived or died. Either way would be miserable. 

With a defeated sigh, Germany lowered his arm. An aura of defect circled him like vultures did a dying animal. It was sad knowing that’s an accurate description. 

“Sir. What are we to do with it.”  
“Shoot it! Vhat else arrre ve to do vith it? Take and carrre for it?  
“Precisely that.”  
“He threatened to shoot us!”

Blood - old, dry - painted the ground a surprisingly pleasant color of brown. Ironic that his first living memory was that of blood and now his last would be the same. And unexpectedly, he smiled. A genuine smile, knowing he would soon be with Third Reich, wherever that might be.

“Ve are not taking zhat brat vith us!”

The young Germanic country raised the gun upward, this time however, towards him himself. A sound escaped him, but not a sob like he expected. Rather a laugh. A truly insane laugh. All conversation in the room came to an abrupt halt and attention was once again turned towards himself. For once he didn't mind.

The fraction of a second it took for them to realize what was was happening was priceless.

“NO!”

The stillness was abruptly broken by Britain shrill shriek.

He lunged towards the boy but it was all hopeless. The distance between them was much too large. And right before he pulled the trigger, he saw USSR raise his own gun.

Germany closed his eyes…

CRACK!

.<_<^>_>.

Germany jolted upwards, clawing at the weight on top of him, before realizing they were just covers. Covers? Wasn't he… no. This was the bedroom. His bedroom. In his house. Present day.

A faint flash of light flickered some distance away making the black, red, and gold country flinch. It had just been a dream. Just a dream. No need to worry. None of that was real. Not now. That was in the past. A flashback to those fateful few days so long ago. Always there floating in the back of his memories.

It was pouring. Great torrents of rain crashed against the glass of the window, trying their hardest to invade his house, but of course it was not enough. 

02:04

The clock on the bedside table proved it to be as late as he felt it was. Or, early technically. It was hard not to notice the lightning cutting through the dark sky. It was especially difficult not to notice the sound of ragged breathing emanating from himself. No matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn't slow. The proper term to use was hyperventilating. He was, once again, hyperventilating. 

Germany drew his knees up to his chest and rested his face in them. No tears came however. In fact nothing came. He had lost the ability to show sadness some time in the past. Instead, Germany rocked, back and forth, listening to the creaks of the bed frame, and the calming downpour against the building.

02:07

It was going to be a long night.

A soft roll of thunder invaded the rain’s song.

Nature's gunshot.


	2. Canada

When Canada woke up he expected two or maybe three missed calls, but forty seven? That was a little overboard. 

It took a moment for his half asleep brain to truly process the number. Who in their right mind would call that many… oh. Why was he not surprised? A quick look at the caller id restored his faith in this world. Of course it would be America. What other countries would call at 1:30 in the morning. Maybe Japan. She had blocked his number though so it was unlikely.

Canada groaned and tossed the device away from him, not even caring if it got damaged. It wasn't really his in the first place, nor had he desired it. Britain had gotten the thing claiming it would ‘make life easier’ and ‘would allow him to connect with friends’. If anything, it had done the complete opposite. Ruined all relationships and had ultimately resulted in his arrest. Why anyone still kept in contact was beyond him. It was a surprise he had not disappeared entirely.

No. Stop. Don't drag yourself down further, it's not good for your health. Think of something happy. Like… maple syrup. Yeah! Syrup was good. Sweet, sticky maple syrup on pancakes and bacon and...

…

Canada hadn't even realised he dozed off until the soft chime of an incoming phone call dragged him from that place between consciousness and sleep. Was Meri calling him again? If so, a certain someone was getting an earful.

With a grumble, the tall country threw his hand out from the warmth of the bed and in the general direction of his downfall. Three more rings screamed before he managed to grasp and drag it back back into his cocoon. He couldn't be bothered to even look to see who it was.

“mmm…” He hadn't meant to sound so dead.

There was only silence on the line.

“Hehleommm…”  
This time he got an answer.  
“Kanada?”  
“... Who is dis…?”  
“Deutschland. Did I vake sie up?”  
“Who?”  
“Deutsc- er- Germany.”

Why was Germany calling him? Something was wrong. Just the way the other country spoke seemed tense, almost as if he was… scared? Of course Canada had no way of proving this was the case, and frankly he didn't care.

“What do you need?”  
The german was obviously not prepared for the harshness of his tone.  
“Oh… uh… kan sie tell UN I vill be late to zee meetink?”  
“No”  
Apparently he wasn't ready for this either.  
“Uhh…vhhyyyyyy...”  
Canada’s already simmering temper started to boil.  
“Why? WHY!? You want to know why? It's because every time I step into that damned building, I get detained and questioned. You of all people should know this. Why do I want to put myself in that position?”

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence followed before the bicolored nation spoke again.

“Listen. I…”, he sighed “I really want to go, see how people are doing and whatnot, but i'm not welcome there. I’m not welcome anywhere.”  
“Please, Kanada. I trust you.”  
“You know who you're talking to, right?”  
“Ja.”

Canada was going to regret this, he knew he would, but the old habit of being nice was overpowering. With a final sigh, the leaf faced country gave in.

“Fine. Don't expect me to stay around. I’m leaving as soon as you get there.”  
“Danke Kanada. I vill be sare as soon a-”  
Canada ended the call, not even bothering to listen to the rest of what the other had to say. 

What did I just get myself into?

The realization of what he accepted hit him, along with the anxiety of it all. Why? Why was he so foolish in believing he could just waltz right up and not face any consequences. Germany was mad thinking this was just a matter of his willingness. Of course in part it was, but that didn't have much significance in the long run. He groaned and ran a hand down his face and collar before hoisting himself up and off the mattress.

His bedroom, though more of a loft, was barren of really anything. The Northern country had never needed much decoration or stuff in general, and that still was the case nowadays. Unnecessary clutter bothered him. The only things up here was his bed and an old cherry wood dresser France had given to him for some reason or another. In fact most of the furniture came from his mom. It wasn't unpleasant or anything, just mildly interesting.

Canada slammed the drawer shut, now fully dressed, and made his way downstairs, almost falling off the narrow flight of steps in the process. He really needed a banister for that. Dying, though looking more and more appealing nowadays, was not very good for his health. Neither was angering the German he promised something to. That could very well lead to death in and of itself. 

Coffee. Coffee would wake him up. Just the thought of that tangy sweet smelling liquid caused Canada to perk up some. The sad part was he didn't have enough time to make any. Looking at the stove’s clock proved this point. He snatched the ring of keys resting on the table and, without even bothering to get any food, headed to the door. 

Grabbing his hat, he was just about to leave, but stopped and turned his head towards the mirror. He didn't look particularly well. Sunken, baggy eyes, ruffled hair, and noticeably pale skin. But what stood out the most was the thick metal shock collar locked around his neck. He had gotten used to it by now. Anyone would if they had it on every day for several months. It was quite sad to be honest. But that didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered except this dumb promise he made.

Three hours to get to the meeting. Or hell. What difference did it make really?

-__-

The UN building was a massive complex. Almost four kilometers long and a quarter that in width, it housed all a country needed to survive. Why anyone wants so much semi public land named after them was beyond him, but he did have to admit it was pretty impressive. Scattered throughout the many parks and gardens were tall office towers, libraries, cafés, ponds, a hotel, and an old theatre that Meri had tried to tear down after an accident but failed to do so. And in the very center of it all sat the five story glass faced structure the grounds were named after. 

That was where he was headed.

As Canada tensely walked down the pavement he stared up at the flagpoles lining the building and smiled internally when he spotted his own. Vanity was not his main priority, but it still brought joy knowing he wasn't completely removed from society. That soon faded as he trailed closer towards the entrance. And as soon as the tall country stepped inside, that feeling was fictional. 

BEEEEEE

Yep. Nothing changed. The alarm was still in place. And so was the security. Oh the security. They hated him. 

“Hey! Stop!” The sound of feet on tile echoed behind him, coming closer on each step. 

Canada did not stop.

It was not until a pair of hands grabbed him that he even bothered to acknowledge their presence. And when he did, he knew the guard immediately regretted it.

“I’m sorry, was I bothering you?” He couldn't conceal his mocking tone.  
“Well… no… but-”  
“Then remove your dirty paws off me. You are causing a scene.”  
“Uhh…”, He suddenly regained his composure. “Sir. I need you to come with me for-”

He just shoved his way past him, fully aware that every eye was trained on them. He had one purpose for being here and the tall country was having none of this. Strangely enough no one followed.

Thank god no country has taken notice of me ye-

“Why didn't you respond to any of my calls?”

Canada jumped and unconsciously swung his fist at whatever was behind him only to realise halfway through that it was his brother. US however had ducked and was currently backing away, both hands out in front of him.

“Sheesh, Nada. I didn't think that was such a touchy subject for you.”

America was the epitome of perfect. Well built, powerful, and the opposite of Canada in almost every way. Ignorant? Yes. Annoying? Yes. But none of that mattered in the eyes of others. His striped skin, rugged look, star shaped freckles, and shiny sunglasses had everyone flocking to him. Of course he had some flaws, such as the void black eyes and split personality, but hey, nobody knew so did it really matter?

“Don't do that!”  
“What? Talk to you? I thought you wanted some company.”  
“No! Sneak up on me!”  
“Oh come on. It was just a joke.”  
“Please leave me alone Meri, I’m in a hurry,” Canada mumbled and swept past the red white and blue country.  
“Why?”  
“None of your business.”  
“Oh come on. You can trust me-”  
“To gossip to every other country here. Yes, that's why you don't get to know.”  
“...”

He glanced over his shoulder and almost burst out laughing at the sight of Ame’s face. It was obvious he was not expecting to be called out much less publicly. That smile was short lived though and he went back to being as expressionless as physically possible.

“Seriously bro, who added salt to your coffee?” The concern in the others' voices was evident.  
A soft sigh escaped the red and white nation but he did not answer. America already knew why he hated being here. There was no explanation needed for the high levels of saltiness in his voice.

“Do you want me to… ya know… keep you from getting arrested again?”  
“That would be...” Canada paused for a moment, “nice.”  
Meri said no more, just walked besides his younger brother as they both headed to the general assembly room. 

“So…”  
“Yes?”  
“Why didn't you answer my phone calls?”  
“I have something called a sleeping schedule. You know what that is, eh?”  
America put a hand over his heart and leaned into Canada, almost toppling the two. “Oh my soul! I’m deeply offended!”  
“Sheesh, Meri. I didn't think that was such a touchy subject for you.”  
“Now listen here you little shi-”  
Canada laughed, drowning out the protests of the other. It wasn't hard to notice the teasing smile on Ame’s face and the prick of warmth that had found its way into his heart. 

“I guess I deserve that,” America muttered quietly.  
“Yes. Yes you do.” Canada chuckled as they came upon the door leading into the hall.

-__-

It was strange being back here after so many months away. Despite this, the entirety of it all stayed relatively similar to when he last saw it. Stacks of papers and folders draped across everything, the telltale scent of coffee, curry, chocolate, and lets not forget about the dozens of countries scattered around the room, chatting and laughing with each other. It was serene in a sense. A nice place to chill and hang out with friends.

Canada hated it.

It wasn't the building itself nor the one permanent resident he so greatly disliked. No, no, no. It was the people who had put him in this hellish situation, all of whom stood somewhere in this room. 

Watching him… 

Waiting for the tall country to mess up… 

Again… 

Nada shuddered, drawing a concerned look from America, but continued walking. Past his seat, down the long asile, and up to the podium.

The four nations conversing there were unlike anyone else. The first thing to tip you off would be the floating projections hovering on and around them, followed by an inky darkness replacing their eyes, and then the fact they were switching languages every few seconds. It was a strange sight, to say the least. The melodic tune when they spoke had a mesmerizing effect on-

Thwack!

The feeling of something hitting his face brought the country back to reality, and he winced, feeling the sharp points of the object digging into his cheek. At the same time, EU yelped and then spun around, stumbling backwards in the process. 

“I’m so sorry! Did tha- oh. It’s you,” The apologetic smile morphed into a sneer when he realised who the star had hit. Canada didn't flinch, just glared back, channeling all the hate in this world towards the nation in front of him.

America cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension between the two.  
“How have you four been this lovely sunny morning?”  
Before anyone could answer, a rumble of thunder echoed through the massive room followed by the plinking of rain on glass.  
“Oh my god! You have got to be kidding me! What is this weather?”  
NATO and UN both snickered, before answering almost in unison “It depends on your preferences, dad.”

Another star struck Canada's face and he snarled, bringing the attention back towards the two.

“What do you want?” EU growled.  
“I have come with a message.”  
“A message you say. And what's it about?”

The bicoloured country turned away from European nation and towards UN, softening his gaze.

“Germany is going to be late to the meeting.”  
United Nations wings ruffled slightly and he could see the confusion in his eyes.  
“Late? He’s never late. What's wrong?”  
“Beats me. He didn't say anything more than-”  
“Let's be real here. You probably did something to him.” EU’s grumbled, receiving a frustrated glare fin return.

“We are gonna go,” America said, grabbing Canada's shoulders and pushing his younger brother away from the fight waiting to happen. “Have a good one.”  
“Yeah, you too,” ASEAN’s soft voice trailed after them.

When the two siblings were out of earshot, the complaining started.

“I’m going to skin him alive and hang it up on a wall.”  
“Woah! Woah! That's a little overboard, don't ya think?”

Canada collapsed in his dusty chair looking back up at his brother, an unamused expression on his face. More and more members of UN were arriving. Singapore, Cyprus, Mongolia, all of them had come in but still no Germany. 

Oh please hurry, Germs.

“Listen man, I get that you hate him but still, that's a little too harsh for someone who…” His voice trailed off.  
“What?”  
“Nevermind. The meeting is about to begin,” He managed to stammer out before disappearing in the maze of people, chairs, and stupidity. 

Canada felt mildly annoyed, both at Ame and Germany. Why did America have to be so needy? Why could Germany not have called UN himself? Why did he promise anything to anyone? The chances of it going wrong greatly outnumbered the rights.

“Hello? Is this working? Testing, testing. Oh good. Can everyone please take their seats.”  
United Nations stood behind the main podium, trying to wave down the few remaining people not at their desks. 

“Hello everyone. Welcome to the… what number is this? No worries. Welcome to today's meeting. I hope all of you are doing just fine…”  
A short chorus of voices filled the room and the shuffling of papers just got louder. The country next to him, Cameroon or whatever her name was, looked to be asleep and he himself was thinking of doing the same thing. Passing out until he could leave this stupid place.

The tall country leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, the soothing sounds of rain on glass lulling him into a much desired sleep. Everything was peaceful if not for but a moment, and he could actually relax. The toasty warmth of the air, the calming effect of UN’s voice, the scent of coffee wafting through-

The door at the back of the room slammed open, and an extremely disheveled looking country stumbled inside.

Not much was known about Germany. Although he was an important member of most organizations, and everyone knew him by name, he still kept his personal life locked away. Even the few times he would somewhat open up, the explanation was so vague no sense was made of it. When questioning the things you could see, such as scars or the ever persistent use of gloves, he always brushed them off. Eventually people had given up trying to pry answers from the germanic country, and just let him be.

Canada’s suspicions from earlier were proven from just a glance at this country. He looked awful. His normally curly hair was a frizz and the formal attire everyone had come to expect was extremely creased as well as unaligned. Beads of sweat stuck to his heavily desaturated skin, shimmering in the lights of the building. The haunted look on his face didn't help this image either, at least not in a positive way. 

“Glad you could make it Germany. I was wondering how long it would take you,” UN smiled at the sickly looking nation, trying to comfort him.  
“Tut mir leid, ich bin zu spät.”  
Although the red and white country couldn't understand what he was saying, it was obvious he did not feel very good.  
“Keine Sorge, Deutschland. Versuchen Sie aber, mich beim nächsten Mal zu kontaktieren, wenn Sie zu spät kommen. Es würde weniger verursachen... drama,” United Nations murmured before turning back to the rest of the room.

Canada, in the meantime, had stood up and was walking the short way to the exit, wishing desperately that he would go unnoticed. No such luck. Why would this world give him any?

“Mr. Canada. Will you please take your seat.”  
The snarl that came from European Union had no effect on the Northern nation. It was only when the sharp pricks of electricity coursed through his body and his legs almost giving up that he even acknowledged the others presence. 

“Sit back down! I never said you could go.”  
“And what makes you think I’m yours to command?”  
Another shock ran down his back, this time stronger, and wordlessly he moved back to his desk ignoring everything except for that smug smirk on EU’s face. It took every fibre of his being to refrain from running up and strangling him. Unfortunately for the tall country, that would most likely put him right back in prison, or even on death row. 

Canada glanced up at the sea of countries, many of whom were still glaring in his direction, and scanned them, before stopping on the person who got him into this mess. He was watching him back, an incredibly sympathetic look on his face. Canada, though furious with him, smiled weakly in an attempt to make the distraught nation feel better about himself. It wasn't his fault for this collective hatred towards himself.

The red and white nation sighed softly and put his head down on the cool wood table. A nap wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like anyone needed his opinion anyway. Why did the council want him to stay? He could only imagine.

-__-

“Nada. Nada. Wake up. The meeting is over. Nada!”  
“Bro, are ya alive dere? Meri, I thenk we hawve a corpse on aur hands.”  
“Aussie! Manners.”  
“Why? It’s not loike you have any.”

Someone was shaking him, forcing him back into the harsh world of reality. He didn't want to get up. The table was too warm to leave. The person above him had different plans and the next thing he knew, the floor was making out with him. This woke the tall country up.

“What the hell!”

An obnoxious cackle and some snorts followed his outburst and when he finally found the energy to roll over, he lay within two peoples’ shadows. Both of his brothers smirked down at him, amused by his current relationship with the carpet.

“What was that for? Couldn't you see I was sleeping?”  
“Canada, the meeting is over. We can go,” 

The nation on the ground perked up at this statement, and it took him no time to actually get up and brush himself off.  
“Come on then. Why are we sitting around this dump?”  
“Because you and I need to have a little chat.”

A chilling voice crawled up Canada's spine, and both Ame and Aussie took a step back, slight fear on both of their faces. Something floated just inside his peripheral vision and, in a blind panic, he reached out and plucked it from the air.

“Will you let go of me?!”  
The one person he had hoped to avoid, the one person who would surely be the cause of his death one day, stood behind him, arms crossed, and a pained expression on his face.

“How did you get there?”  
“Does it matter?” EU hissed.  
“Yes.”

His two brothers, both of whom had been backing up, finally turned and disappeared up the aisle and out the doors. Great help they were. An unusual calm passed over the two nations and they looked away, both lost in their thoughts. It was a strange feeling for Canada. All of the fight had left him, and in its place was a hollow shell. One with no purpose, no reason to really be here, and most definitely no help to society. He was just a husk of what he one was.

“We need to talk to you, but first would you release my star?”

Canada did just that and started once again edging his way down to the collective seating of the four nations.

The main desk had five seats, though only four were ever occupied. The fifth one once was Warsaw Pact’s, but she had unfortunately crumbled away some years back. No one had the heart to remove the seat so there it still sat, in the same place as it had been left, bolted to the floor. And in the way of the others. Back in the day, It would bring great humour to many of the countries, seeing them struggle to weave themself around it, but nowadays it just brought the knowledge that any of them could suffer the same fate at any time.

The table itself was one of the messiest things in the entire room. Stacks opon stacks of files, papers, and books were scattered between the countless dishes. It was as if a hurricane swept through this part of the room and all of the nations just went with it. And what do you know, here they all were.

“Good afternoon Canada. You are most likely wondering why we called you up here, no?” NATO said, not looking up from the book he held. He didn't let the country answer and just kept on speaking.  
“We have been seeing a steady decrease in activity from you. Although we would normally just document it as a sick day, or quite possibly vacation time, it has been several months of this and we have become worried-” Canada scoffed at this, “-That you may soon collapse if this behavior continues.”  
“Does that really throw off any plans for you?”  
“Indeed it does,” said UN, standing up and moving around to the front of the desk.  
“We need you to do something for us and dying would only put a kink in it.”

They wanted something from him. That explained everything. They didn't need him so much as they needed what he was. 

“Forget it!”  
“No! Wait, we can offer something in exchange for this,” The winged nation exclaimed.  
Canada sneered at him before responding.  
“And what good has any of your proclamations in the past done? Huh? Exactly! No-oth...in…” His voice faded as a pair of hands found their way to his throat. Every muscle in his body tensed up, and he was struggling to keep calm.

“You’re asking yourself what good will come of it. Well, first off, the collar disappears if you are successful,” a soft tapping of fingernails on metal filled his ears, and EU’s voice almost disappeared.

The leaf faced country closed his eyes, wishing he could refuse this offer, but knowing this could be the only time he could get it off. The other four nations, though really three- ASEAN wasn't paying much attention to this- seemed to realise that, and a soft chuckle escaped one of them. 

“You see, we need someone to, what's the word, acquire some knowledge about a few countries.”  
“So you want to snoop in other people's personal lives? This is why nobody likes you, EU.”  
A slight snort from NATO brought the attention back to him.  
“No, not exactly. We just need to figure out why they are so secretive. A reason to leave them alone.”

Canada, although dispising the idea of barging into someone's life, was quite curious as to whom these nations were referring to.  
“Who are they?”

Three folders appeared in front of him, and he took them. The names at the top or each confused the country. Germany, Poland, and Russia?

“Why can't you contact them? It would seem easier in the long run.”  
UN pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We have. Germany doesn't say anything, Poland can't talk, and Russia is a hopeless drunk. None of them trust us.”

Another silence passed between them and Canada could hear the few remaining countries that had stuck around after the meeting exit the room. 

“If I were to refuse, what would happen?”

A sadistic grin crossed European Union’s face and he held up the controller for the collar.  
“Ten thousand volts, my ‘friend’. I’m sure that's enough to kill you.”

Pause.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> open to criticism.


	3. Russia

It was a wonder how cold mountain water could get before freezing. 

This was the only thought running through the Russian’s head as he lay in the chilled river. How he had gotten there was a mystery, one that most likely played a part in the severe nausea and headache he was currently suffering from. The ‘river’ was actually just a slow moving, eight centimetre deep stream, one that only if you tried would you ever drown in. That had not stopped him from inhaling a mouthful of water and choking awake. 

Again.

What he had initially hoped for the first time waking up semi submerged in liquid was that it would never happen again. No such luck. For now the third time this week he had regained consciousness only to find himself lying, thankfully unharmed, in the same shallow spot in the mountain stream.

Russia lived in a small village nestled in a mountain valley, though he wouldn't even consider this place a village. The only inhabitants who lived here were himself, North Korea, and the two poles, North and South, as well as the countless bodies of all those past nations come and gone, if you wanted to count those. The entirety of this place revolved around the ever expanding graveyard. The only reason why anyone even lived here in the first place was to work the cemetery; digging, cleaning, and keeping the place half decent for the rare visitors. That, and to escape the crippling debts that lay on all their shoulders.

In the time that Russia had been lost in his thoughts, some

one had emerged from the opposite side of the water. Two people actually.

“I don't care if he is a friend of the family, if that drunken asshole is passed out in the water I won't be dragging him out.”  
“. . .”  
“No! It’s not my responsibility to- and what did I tell you. HERE HE IS!” 

Looks like they found him. The calming sounds of wind and running water were interrupted by splashing, and the next thing he knew, his limp body was being dragged out of the riverbed and onto dry land. A shadow fell over Russia, but an unexplained exhaustion was keeping him from showing any signs of responsiveness to it.

“Hey. Wake up,” The figure above him growled, and then in a softer tone, “Go find his hat.”

More splashing followed this command and Russia felt his consciousness slowly slipping under. This hangover, or what felt like one, was taking a toll on the Slavic country. Not only did it make him incredibly nauseous, but it had also clouded all memories leading up to this moment. What had happened? He didn't know. Who was responsible? Most likely himself. No amount of questioning would answer any of these inquiries however.

“. . .”  
“No, this is not my fault. Why do you say it is?”  
“. . .”  
“Look, I wasn't the one to give him the alcohol, I just… helped him find it.”  
“. . .!”

The noise above him and the uncomfortable cold dampness that had permeated every fibre of his being, was giving him a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was as if something was slowly crushing him, squeezing the life out his already decomposing body. The Russian didn't want to move, but he knew he would have to sometime otherwise someone would have to drag him across the forest floor, and out of personal experience, that would not feel good. 

The sound of someone walking through water stopped and a few moments later a wet mass smacked down on his face. Russia groaned as he reached up to remove whatever it was and found it to be his ushanka. More accurately Soviet’s ushanka. And just beyond that were the two nations that had once again found and dragged him out of the brook. Neither of them looked particularly happy.

Antarctica and North Korea were strange countries to say the least. Both of them had features that were unnatural, from the ragged cat ears and tail that North sported, to Ant’s abnormal yellow eyes and flipper feet. What stood out the most was how skinny they were. Granted everyone here was severely underweight, including himself. The lack of proper nutrition did that to people.

“What do you want??”  
“Nice to see you too,” North grumbled, before turning and walking away.

The mute country watched as he left before looking back down at Russia, a scowl on her face. With a rough yank, she pulled him up into a sitting position and then stood up. Russia, despite feeling awfully dizzy, pushed himself to his feet as well, towering over the cold nation. At almost seven and a half feet, he overlooked everyone else. The only person he knew that had been taller than him was his father, Soviet. That had of course been when he was still alive.

“Why are you trying to save me? I just wasted your time.” Russia sneered.  
Ant didn't show any signs of hearing him. She just began to follow the cat-eared country back the way they came.

“Listen to me zou mutant freak. I’m talking to you. Hello?!” Russia was jogging, though with great difficulty, beside his friend, thoroughly frustrated with her inability to answer a simple question. He just wanted so badly an answer as to why she cared. Would less people be easier to feed, especially if the outside world didn't know one of the four gravekeeper's were gone?

Antarctica! If you don’t answer me I-” Russia was caught off guard when she spun around and shoved him away, right back into frigid water. Sadly this spot wasn't quite as shallow as before. The Russian found himself floating in the bottom of the two metre deep stream. In a moment of pure panic he inhaled, and then coughed out the liquid. Or tried to. He was underwater after all.

Somehow he managed to claw his way upward and back to the surface, crawling onto the shore before vomiting up the measly amount of substance he had consumed within the past day or so. When he finally looked up, Antarctica was nowhere to be found. Good. If he ever got his hands on her then he would be charged with manslaughter. That was undesirable, though he heard prison had food, so was it really that bad?

Standing up, he shook out the water from his ragged hair, and wrung out the fabric cap, watching as a steady stream of water ran out from the cloth. It was a wonder the article of clothing had stood up against the test of time. The only sign of wear on it was a small rip on an earflap, but besides that it could be considered brand new. The ushanka had originally been his fathers, but when he had crumbled, Russia had taken it as his own. The only other piece of garb the Slavic country had taken from Soviet’s dresser was a long trench coat, and that too had yet to wear away. All other garments of his were so worn down they provided neither protection, warmth, or modesty. The first two were necessities.

The sour taste of bile followed him as he moved upstream, towards the old house he had called home for the past few decades. Could one consider a bunch of rotting boards held together by rusty nails a house? Surely not. 

Speaking of which, he could just barely see the roof through the wall of trees that had taken over the valley. The wood slats were curled from the many cycles of rain, snow, and sun that had passed over the years and many were missing entirely; completely crumbled to dust. The rest of the house when it came into view, looked the same. Falling to shreds, and rotten. Plants and fungi growing out of it. Everything was as it should be. 

With great difficulty he walked up the stairs and opened the rusty door. The inside was dark, and the musty air overwhelmed his senses. Without caring he was still damp, he collapsed on the torn up couch and stared up at the ceiling, hoping he could just sleep off this hangover. It was a hangover, wasn't it? He had no recollection of drinking anytime within the last day. Even if he did get a hold of some form of alcohol, it certainly hasn't come himself. Last time he checked he didn't even have enough monies to buy extra grain rations. 

Hadn’t North Korea mentioned something about some kind of sake? He was pretty sure he did. And the eastern country did have access to rice, so that was a statement to consider.

Russia unconcounciously shivered and only now did he realise the sun was setting. He didn't even know it was so late in the day. Where had the time gone? Much of it had passed in the while he had been out so that certainly contributed, but had it not just been afternoon?

A soft knock sounded on the front door, the sound pounding into the tall country’s head, and causing him to clutch his face in pain. Silence, why couldn't he get any here?

With a furious snarl, Russia jolted up off the couch, stormed over to the door, and flung it open, revealing a startled country looking back at him. Except it wasn't one of the three he had come to be used to. 

The nation in front of him was a mix of bright red and white, a blob of the same red in the shape of some plant plastered in the middle. His face showed mild discomfort, and frankly he couldn't blame him. But what stood out the most were the eyes. They shone back gold in the colours of the dusk sky, almost as if they were on fire; as if they were glowing. It was painful to look at. They reminded him all too much of Soviet. There was a rather tense silence between the two before his unwanted visitor finally spoke.

“Hello. How are you- you doing?”   
Russia's confusion quickly turned to frustration.  
“What are you doing here? Get off of my land.”   
“S-sorry?” The person stammered, and the Slavic country realized he hadn’t spoken English. He rephrased the question, this time in a language this trespasser could understand. “What do you vant?”

This poor person. His composure had dissipated and now he just looked like he wanted to melt into the ground. 

“I… um… I…”  
“If you are here from UN, tell him he kan go fuc-”  
“No! No, he didn't send me! I just came to see if you are okay…” The bicoloured country managed to stammer out.  
The Russian didn't respond to that, he just looked at the shorter country in disgust. The lie was obvious.  
“I brought some food.” It was only a whisper but he heard it clear as day.  
“I don't need your damn charity! Get off my property before I shoot you!”  
“I’m just trying to hel-”  
Russia slammed the door in his face, fighting back the urge to pummel the other through the porch and into the dirt below.

How dare the council send one of their lackeys over to bother him. He hadn't gone to one of their meetings for that very reason. They wanted to know every little detail about his personal life. And bribing him with food. That leaf faced country was lucky he still was conscious.

With a soft groan, he slumped against the door and let himself slide down. Sleep. He needed sleep. Something. Anything to get rid of this painful throbbing that coursed through his body. Why was the world so against him right now?

A barely audible slam of a car door shutting sounded through the wood walls of his house and the Slavic nation breathed a sigh of relief. Why in the world had someone gone out of their way just to visit him, much less bring anything to eat. This was a ploy. Every fibre of his being was telling him United Nations and European Union were trying to leach out information. Well he was not going to give them the satisfaction. To hell with their intrusive habits.

He reached out and grasped the wall before pulling himself up. A dim light was pricking its way through the dirty windows, casting shadows around the dilapidated room, and somehow creating a more appealing setting to pass out and sleep forever. Yes, that was what he was going to do. Sleep for however long he could. Hopefully a day or two. 

Slipping the coat and ushanka off, Russia fell back onto his makeshift bed and sighed. Another day wasted, not that there was much to do in the first place. It was still sad to know that whatever they did would most likely only influence those who lived here. 

But does that really matter.

He muttered an almost silent no before closing his eyes and letting himself drop back into slumber.

_-=v^v=-_

Russia woke up feeling fairly refreshed. No longer did he sport the terrible migraine or queasiness that came with drinking. Besides the empty pit where his stomach once resided, he felt fine. Sure, that was not going to last all day, in all likelihood not even the hour, but for the time being Russia would enjoy it.

The Slavic country cracked his eyes open, and then hissed at the blinding light. Ah yes. The headache. He was returned. With a quiet groan, he pushed himself up and swung his legs around. The awful creaking of both joints and wood echoed through the room. He stood up and stretched before turning and walking into the kitchen.

The room was basically devoid of really anything. There was no furniture, besides of course the old wooden table pushed up against the corner, and the few counters had only grime and dust occupying the spaces. Why he had come here in the first place was up for discussion. Habit maybe?

He murmured a string of nonsense and once again walked back to the sitting room. The Slav glanced around the dingy place before snatching the coat from the ground and brushing it off. He might as well go and apologize to the others for making their lives harder than they already were. He sighed and slumped back to the entryway, stepping outside onto the rotting wood porch.

Russia turned and scanned his surroundings. Tall fir’s surrounded the clearing, the building he had just exited overgrown with all types of fauna, somebody sleeping on his porch, the gentle sound of wind rustling through- wait what? The Slav froze and slowly turned back to the veranda. Laying there, somewhat hidden by a heavy winter coat, was the unmistakable figure of another person. 

His confusion quickly turned to horror, and then into anger. What rights had anyone to be occupying his property? His privacy was being invaded. Well, not for much longer. Russia stormed up the stairs and was about to go off on whatever squatter lay passed out under his window before he saw who it was and paused. 

This was no regular human. His hair was too white to be just dye. And the splotch of red on his face… it too was of an unusual shape. Wait. He recognized him.

Russia stared down at the country from yesterday evening, unsure as to what to do. The Slavic nation had heard the vehicle leave, hadn't he? So why was he still here? And how had the other survived such an extreme chill? No, nothing made sense here.

He wiped the confused stare off his face and swung his foot at the country’s side, striking him squarely in the ribs. A sharp hiss sounded and the bicoloured nation shot up, hand moving down to where it was surely already bruising. 

“What the hell was that for?” the grogginess in his voice was evident.  
Russia barked out a sadistic laugh before snarling an answer, “Why do you zink, leaf? I distinctly remember telling you to leave,” he raised his voice on the last word.  
Instead of showing anger, the country almost seemed amused.  
“Leaf? Leaf? Oh man! I can't wait for Ame to get a hold of that one.”  
Russia couldn't help but feel lost at that reaction. It was certainly not anything he had expected. The other must have seen the befuddled look on his face because he smiled apologetically.  
“Ame, America I guess. He’s my brother. You know him, right.”  
Rus continued to gape at him. Another one of Britain's children? How original.   
“Um… so… y-yeah…” his voice trailed off leaving both of them in an uncomfortable silence.

Russia sighed. The original feeling of anger was no longer in control. It had been swapped for something more docile. An almost exhaustion. He was far too burned out to be dealing with this right now. Without much thought put into the consequences, the Slav turned and walked down to the end of the porch and stepped off, completely abandoning the situation he had gotten himself into. If the westerner was foolish enough to come after him then so be it, but it wouldn't be his fault when he inevitably got himself into trouble.

The tricoloured nation dragged himself across the clearing towards the small stream, desperately in need of something to clear his parched throat. Following quite loudly behind him was Canada, trying and failing to sputter out what sounded to be an apology. He was soon drowned out by the gurgle of running water.

“I'm sorry for bothering you but I thought you would like a visit and- pardon me? What are you doing?”

Russia wordlessly sank onto the rocky bank and cupped his hands. The crystal clear water stung his fingers and gave them a somewhat painful tingling.

“Do you not have running water inside?”

The Slav gave a side glance at his nuisance and sighed. What would it take for him to disappear?

“If I had vater, I couldn't be out here, now could I.” He just sounded tired, which honestly wasn't too far from the truth.  
Canada chuckled before responding, “Well I don't know that.”  
“And now you do,” the Slav splashed a handful of the icy water onto his face, “Can you please leave?”  
“Nope!”

The tricoloured country stood and glanced back. The other still stood there, expectantly watching his every move. It brought an unexplainable feeling to his very being. What was he thinking? Is he being recorded right now? How did he know he was safe. Russia bristled at these notions and his somber personality morphed back into a defensive one.

“I do not know what you are doing here, but whatever it I don’t like. Leave before you end up here permanently.”  
Leaf took a step back, both hands out in front of him, an ‘apologetic’ smile on his face.  
“Geez sorry, I was only trying to help.”  
“You being here does anything but. I want you gone, and if I have get rid of you myself zen so be it.”

They were both trapped, locked in an unbreakable staring contest. Russia's fists were clenched, ready for any sudden actions against him, and he noticed the other doing the same. There was an uneasy silence between them. Canada was the first to break eye contact.

He chuckled again and averted his eyes downwards, reaching up and scratching the nape of his neck in the process. 

“Je suppose que ce ne sera pas aussi facile que je l'avais pensé.”

Russia just barely caught what he had muttered. French? Most definitely. It was a shame he had never truly picked up on it. Soviet had but he- 

No. 

Stop always referring back to him. He's gone, you can't change that.

“Yeah, sorry aboot that. I’ll leave you to whatever it was you were doing.”

Russia snapped out of his trance and glared at the shorter male, earning a very nervous step back and yet another soft laugh. He mumbled something before turning and speed walking up the slight incline; disappearing into the thick line of trees at the top. The Slav blankly watched him go, the smallest twinge of sadness making its way to his relevant emotions. Despite wanting nothing to do with the westerner, he still felt hurt by his disappearance.

Somewhere off between the trees, a car engine roared to life. The distant purr of mechanical bits calmed his nerves ever so slightly. And then it too was gone, becoming indistinguible within the other sounds of the forest. The soft murmuring of the stream, chirping of insects, whistling of a constant breeze between trees and rock. He had not for some time stopped to hear the song of nature. Probably because it was just downright annoying.

Russia sluggishly turned back towards his house and dragged himself towards it. He should probably go and get something to give the others. It was only right to do so given he had once again provided himself an inconvenience. The only problem was finding anything that might be of value. He sighed and started to open the door only to freeze and glance over at an unfamiliar object resting against the building.

“What in the…”

The Slav nervously looked around, unsure what he should do. Had the westerner left something of him? He drew in a long breath before slowly exhaling it, and stepped closer to inspect this thing.

The ‘thing’ was an intricately woven wicker basket, the image of a flower engraved onto the lid. The soft cream coloured wood and copper fasteners were an unnatural sight for him. He looked around again. Should he open it? He thought about that for a moment before shrugging and flipping back the top. Russia had to do a double take at the contents inside. Food! The wicker container was full of edibles. An unfamiliar bubbly feeling was rising in him and he couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. 

Picking the basket up, The Northern nation stood and looked in the direction of the distant road.

Maybe the capitalist was not as bad as I had first believed him to be.

...

Who am I kidding. Of course he was. Weren't they all.

But as he started down the old dirt path, Russia just didn't seem to be able to erase the stupid grin off his face.


	4. Poland

Poland had not anticipated starting his day off by running out of clothes, yet here he was, tossing away the best and only pair of trousers he owned. Really he should have gotten rid of them several decades prior to this moment. The only reason he hadn't was because, like previously stated, he had no others.

The western Slavic nation groaned and stared down the muddy grey trousers. They had once been crisp white in colour, and many parts of it, primarily the knees and seat, were so thin one could almost see right through it. Over twenty years of wear and tear had taken its ultimate toll on this poor article of clothing.

Another sigh escaped him and he ran his fingers along the unrepairable rip next to the crotch. Of course it just had to be this day, this particular day, the date he had things to do, when life decided to screw him over. Normally the Pole would take the hour or so to patch these sorts of things up, but this. This was nothing any mortal, country, or even devine being could ever fix. Hell, the thing looked as if it had been mauled. 

Poland grumbled an insult at whatever undeserving, and most likely no longer existent company had made them, before unceremoniously draping them over his beds footboard. 

He once again sighed, a long drawn out sound, and turned back to his open dresser and the closet next to that. No, Poland hadn’t quite run out of clothing. In fact he was quite sure he owned more than most all of his European neighbours. The only problem was he despised wearing them, not because they were necessarily uncomfortable. That was not the case. He made it his goal never to wear them because they were all dresses.

He blamed Commonwealth for this particular curse of his. Ever since he had been born, people, France in particular, had mistaken him for a girl. Which wouldn’t have been such a problem had his mother not gone along with it. He couldn't exactly blame her on this though. She was quite shy. Had been. Never going out of her way to disagree with the stronger western powers. Never putting up with the prying habits they had developed. Poland quite admired her for that. He himself hated nosey people just as much as she had.

Another sigh, and the Slav began sorting through the mishmash of clothing, trying, hoping, begging to find something half decent to wear. Anything really would do. After several moments of painful indecision, Poland picked out what looked to be a sundress. The bright yellow flowers woven into the cotton fabric seemed far too cheery for such a depressing day. At least it would hide most of the mutilations his body had sustained over his life.

Looking closer, it was obvious this had come from Ukraine. The one armed nation had the strangest obsession with flowers, sunflowers in particular. It showed on everything she owned. From the shirts, sweaters, skirts, and- he was ashamed to admit it- but even her underclothes. Too bad they had such a stressed relationship nowadays. He would have loved spending time picking flowers with her, and just being with her in general. 

He started to sigh again, but stopped himself. 

After spending several long minutes shiftling the cool fabric around his shoulders, he stepped up to only mirror in his house and looked at himself. 

Poland cringed. 

The eyesore colours clashed horribly with his skin, and despite his hardest attempts, the soft feathers of his broken wings still stuck out the collar. He stared at himself in disgust before turning and pulling on a sweater. It didn't match either, but it would do its job in concealing his wings and shoulders.

“I look like a damn donation bin.”

He didn't even try to supress the next groan.

A sudden clack against his window startled the Slav and he glanced outside. The sky had grown darker sense he last checked. Rain this time of the year wasn't uncommon, neither were the westward moving winds that had swept across his lands. It was still concerning that it was already this bad, not being directly under the heart of the storm and the like. Poor Germany. The weather must have been awful there if it was like this here. 

Poland murmured a string of noncoherent words before giving one last glance at his reflection. Still sorely disfigured. 

Grabbing the pair of crutches resting up against the wall, Poland made his way across the tiny bedroom and out into the connected study. It wasn't a large room either; though his house wasn't big in the first place. There was barely enough room to hold a few bookshelves and a desk, but that was enough for comfort. 

He nervously looked around, waiting for something to jump out and attack him. Of course, nothing did. He would have heard if someone had tried to enter.

“You need to stop being so paranoid, Poland. You are not helping anybody,” he paused and scrunched up his face before adding on, “You’ve never helped anyone in the first place. What does it matter.” Not a question, just a statement.

He gave one final scan of the chamber, then skittered over to and down the stairwell. The comforting creaking of old wood echoed through the empty hallways, competing with the ever worsening weather outside.

The kitchen was in pretty bad shape. Not because it was damaged necessarily, Poland had just forgotten to clean up from the night before. Why he hadn’t was going to be a mystery. One that wouldn't last long, given the fact he was going to tidy up this place. Always clean up after your crime scene. Wouldn't want to leave evidence traceable back to you.

“Okay Poland. Hungary is going to be here in,” he turned to the clock, “half an hour. You have enough time to organize this place and make it not look like a dump. You can do that, right?”

Maybe.

Poland sighed and glanced back around at the room, starting to debate whether or not this was a lost cause. It certainly seemed like it. And even if he was to start, the likelihood of him finishing it in the given time was highly improbable.

But I could try.

Yes, he could try. It never hurt to attempt something, even if that thing was now obviously vain.

He sighed once again, and then mentally scolded himself. He really needed to stop doing that. It was annoying.

..().)...(@)...(.()..

The honk of a car horn was what notified the western Slav of Hungary's arrival. 

It cut through the whistling of wind, startling him ever so slightly. Placing down the rag, Poland peeked through the kitchen curtains. He was greeted by the familiar ivory Fiat he had grown accustomed to over the years. The small vehicle had been a gift of sorts back in 1989 when they had both escaped from USSR’s communist reign. How Hunger had kept the thing in running condition all these years was quite the mystery.

Pulling back, Poland looked around the small room. He had cleaned more than he had originally thought possible. No longer was there dirty tupperware on every surface, and the never ending supply of moulted feathers had been, for the most part, swept up. Which was good, given he wanted nobody to question why there was enough plumage to make a king sized mattress just floating around his kitchen.

“No, Poland. Stop stalling. You are wasting valuable time just standing around.”

Quickly pulling the twin pair of wood supports to his side, he sped over to the door and unbolted it, practically throwing it open. As soon as he stepped outside, he was met with the unforgiving force of nature. The wind was much worse than it had looked through glass, signified by him almost being blown over. Damn wind. He had a love hate relationship with it.

The wood porch and stairs led to a cobbled path, and that to the road where Hungary was parked. Opening the door, Poland crammed himself and the crutches in. The cab smelled quite heavily of alcohol, tobacco, and cologne, though that was to be expected. After getting comfortable, the Slav turned and looked at his best friend.

Hungary raised an eyebrow.

“A dress? My. What inspired you to wear that today?”   
A lack of more optional clothing.  
Hungary grinned at his friend, before actually greeting him. “Good afternoon, Lengyelország. How is everything going with you?”  
Poland shrugged, honestly unsure. This was not a bad day, exactly, nor was it good. It was just a day. Another day in another year in another decade.

“Ahoj Polsko.”  
Poland flinched as a familiar, but definitely unexpected, voice sounded from the back seat. A grim exhale from Hungary confirmed it was who it sounded like.

“Didn't expect me to be here, did you, my lovely little pierogi,” Czechia’s melodic voice floated through the cab, and seconds later, his face came into view.  
“She is not yours, Czech.”  
“Oh, my apologies,” there was a hint of mock in his voice, “I never intended to steal my brother's obsession. His crush. Wanna be lover.”

A growl emanated from the green, red, and white country, but other than that, he didn't react.

Poland grinned at the younger of the two siblings before, turning back to the driver. Hungary was staring out the windshield, obviously quite embarrassed. The shuffling of bodies filled the silence, before Hungary finally sighed a response

“I had to bail the fool out of jail again,” Hungary explained.  
Czechia scoffed, “No you didn’t. I had absolutely everything under control.”  
“You were flirting with the officers.”  
“I was seducing them with my charm.”  
“Really? I thought you were trying to get put on the sex offender list.”

Czech rolled his eyes and smirked. Another soft exhale from Hungary and they were moving

It always had felt weird being in a car. The machine was an unnatural way of travel, especially for someone who always used to only really walk or fly. Moving along the ground at such a speed was nauseating at times. It was almost like a carriage, except instead of wood, it was metal, and the horses had been replaced by a mess of combustible tubes that, for some bizarre reason, still measured in horsepower. Humans were weird sometimes.

“Oh, Poland. I have something for you,” the nation sitting beside him pulled his attention back to reality. A bit of shuffling and a wad of cash appeared in his outstretched hand.  
“Four thousand złoty, fresh off the rack.”  
The Slav blinked at the stack of salmon coloured banknotes, nickel clasp sparkling in the dim afternoon light, before looking back up at the tricoloured nation. An apologetic flicker of a smile sparkled through his face.  
“Sorry it is not more. Business has been slow the past month.”

The bicoloured country blinked again, and hesitantly plucked up the money. A very awkward moment passed between the two.

“Nikdy předtím jsem necítila tolik syrového sexuálního napětí mezi dvěma lidmi.”

“What was that?” Hungary said, taking the opportunity to worm his way out of the situation he had helped create.  
The red, white, and blue nation sighed, chuckled, and started speaking again. Or complaining moreso.

“Oh come on! You give the sociopath more money than me, your own brother? What kind of unjust world do you think we live in?” Czecia’s voice was chock full of sarcasm, though Poland did get the feeling it wasn't all synthetic. There was a small twinge of actual hurt in the teasing statement.

Hungary muttered a comeback, “Earth, we live on Earth,” and then louder, “I give you just as much as I do Poland...” Czech tried to interrupt but was cut off, “...In bails.”

The red, white, and blue nation sputtered something illegible, before collapsing back in the seat with a huff.

“Yeah. Maybe if you didn't get arrested so often, you would actually have something to spend.”  
Czech glanced out the window at the surrounding farmland before sighing and turning back to Hungary.  
“Why don't you ask for a raise?”

Their driver scowled and grit his teeth before speaking. “You can’t exactly get a raise in my field of work, Czecia. Would you like me to go into further detail as to why not?”  
“Please God no.” Poland had heard his friend plead before, but it never sounded quite as sincere as it did right now.   
`”Really? Given how interested you are in my money, I thought you wanted to know how I earn it.” His voice had gained an almost sinister undertone, and an audible groan emanated from the back seat.  
“Was that a yes I heard?”   
“Absolutely not.”

Poland was laughing, silent as it was, at the two brothers’ abilities to get on eachothers nerves. His sporadic gasps of air had brought the attention back to him, and after a few seconds of relative silence, both began to argue again.

“For god's sake Hunger!” The one eyed nation yelled, smacking the back of the others head.  
“What did I do? It's your fault for even bringing anything up,” he turned around and glared at Czecia, “And for the last time don't call me ‘Hunger.’”  
“Oh but of course,” a smug grin crossed his face and murmured just loud enough fot Hungary to hear, “With the amount of food you consume, you’re anything but.”  
“Excuse me!?”  
“You are getting a little chubby, my dear friend. You should lay off Poland’s pastries,” Czech said. The gleeful smile had widened.

The central European’s laughter had turned into a dry cough, and he was having trouble stopping it. Hungary’s indignant protests were only making things worse. Neither of them could exactly deny Czechia’s claims, given they were entirely true, but still. 

A sudden stab of pain cut through Poland’s abdomen, and he doubled over, still coughing. Except this time it wasn’t from laughter. The two others’ conversations faded out and he dimly heard one of them ask him something. A few seconds passed before the same phrase was repeated, now louder and with a noticeable worry attached to it.

“Lengyelország? Are you okay,” an edge of panic cut his friend's voice, “Poland?!”

Does it look like I'm okay?

The Slav shivered as a warm sweater was draped over his shoulders, and Czechia’s sweet but scared murmur behind him was lost to the ringing in his ears. After several more minutes of strangled gasping, he fell silent.

“Polsko? Do you want to make a detour to a hospi-”

NO!

Poland desperately wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Nobody could know he could talk. Nobody could know about ‘him’. So instead, the Slav shook his head. A soft grumble emanated from Hungary.  
“You can't just keep rejecting medical treatment Lengyelország. It’s helping nobody.”

Just watch me.

It had started to drizzle, the quiet pattering of water against the glass and metal vehicle soothing in a sense. All three of them had drifted back into their own worlds for the time being. Poland stared out the water streaked window, watching the farmland gradually fill with houses. The distant blurry bases of the Tatra mountains were also taking shape, rising into the thickening cloud layer above. His wings were starting to ache also; the constant rubbing against coarse fabric, and the cramped position were less than desirable.

Poland let out a gentle sigh and rested his head against the cold glass. Two more sighs followed in response. He perked back up and turned to the two brothers. Both were staring at him, mischievous grins brightening their faces. A passing moment of silence followed before the European forced an unamused expression on himself. It didn't last long. It too dissolved into a shy smirk.

Hungary laughed.

“Come on, let's make sure you don't starve,” then softer, “You wouldn't look quite as pretty if you did.”  
“My. Getting a little direct with your advances, aren't we, Hunger.”  
“Shut up.”

..().)...(@)...(.()..

It had been a relatively quiet drive back home, in terms of speech that is. The hum of the engine filled the awkward silences between the stray bits of conversation that occasionally sprouted up, though those were becoming increasingly rare. Mostly they had been watching the weather. It had worsened. What had once been a mere sprinkle of water, now came down in fierce torrents, washing the Earth in life and rejuvenating the thirsty plants and animals. It almost sounded like a tap dancing group was practicing on the roof of the car.

Poland sighed.

Hungary took that sigh as a means to start speaking again.  
“I can't stay long. I have more work scheduled later today and I need time to get ready.”  
The bicoloured country nodded.  
“I’ll help you take things in, but that's it, okay?”  
He nodded again.  
“Czechia will be coming with me. I wi-ill b… be…”

Hungary’s voice faltered, and Poland looked up, confused. He was staring up ahead, towards Poland's house. It confused him for a second, as he couldn't see anything, and then the figure moved. Through the rain and how dark everything was, all that indicated there to be anyone there was a hazy silhouette. 

Poland's heart skipped a beat. A small part of him wanted to tell Hungary to turn the car around and leave, but the more rational part of him decided against that. It could just be a neighbour needing something. Yeah. That's who it was. A neighbor that needed help.

They slowed down, the old brakes squealing against the slick pavement, and came to a complete stop. There was another vehicle parked out front; a weathered green Toyota Corolla, spots of rust eating away at the fenders, and a cracked windshield. It looked like an older model, maybe from the early 1990’s.

Poland’s Uralic friend beside him muttered an “oh no” followed by a string of curses. Neither Czechia or Poland were expecting that.

Stepping out of the Fiat, Poland slowly walked up the path, his two friends following close behind. The mysterious figure was sat on the edge of the porch, seemingly oblivious of his surroundings, swinging his legs back and forth. This was certainly a country. He vaguely recognized him, Poland just couldn't put a name to the face. He remembered seeing him at a few parties throughout the years, and he was quite sure their peoples had a decent relationship with each other. Hadn't he helped the allies during the second war?

The country’s head snapped up, finally realizing that he was no longer alone. The first thing Poland noticed was he looked exhausted. A kind of exhaustion that felt all too familiar. A sad kind of tiredness that was horrific to feel. The next thing Poland noticed were his eyes.

Poland stared down at the luminescent eyes of this unexpected visitor, completely frozen. They glowed, a warm golden hue in the gray surroundings; a spark of condensed sunshine trapped on Earth. They looked exactly like Soviets had.

The nation in question looked at him, and quickly stood up, towering over Hungary, Czechia, and himself. There was a passing moment of tense silence, before he spoke up.

“Hello Poland,” He smiled down on them tiredly, “Hello Hungary, Czechia.”  
“Geet out of herre, yuo unvanted cast off son of a beitch,” Hungary sneered.

Both Poland and Czechia took a step back, completely thrown off at this sudden change of personality. The Uralic country pushed past both of them and stormed right up to the red and white nation, stabbing a finger into his chest. Despite him being over two heads shorter, Hungary looked quite fierce.

“Leave!”

The semi shocked expression of the taller was quickly replaced with an almost amused one, though Poland couldn't exactly ignore the hurt in his eyes. 

“On sait tous les deux que je suis innocent, Hongrie.” Poland understood none of what was said, but by the expression on his friend’s face, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.  
“Yuor blatant lies are afpalling. Geet out of herre before I call EU.”  
The still unnamed country barked out a laugh before responding. “And what can he do? It’s not like my oh so ‘loving’ brother cares about either of us anyway.”

A brother of European Union? That would mean he is either France or Germany’s child. Or both maybe? 

“Oh, I’m sure he vouldn't mind leetting yuo rrot in jail. Vhere you beelongk.”  
“Strong words coming from a common whore such as yourself, eh?” all traces of kindness had vanished, replaced by a cold, hard lump of lead.

Now it was Czechias turn to move. He stepped forward and gently gripped his brother's arms, keeping him from lashing out at the other country. He smiled up slightly and, in very broken English, murmured an apology  
“Sorrry of my brrother. He nout very… ah… frriendly? Frriendly. Yes.”  
“You are making a serious mistake, Czech Republic,” Hungary hissed, yanking himself out of the others' clutch, stalking to the other edge of the porch, and pulling out a cigarette 

The anonymous nation blinked and softened his features.   
“It’s okay Czechia. I don't mind.”  
“Oh! O-oki...”

Poland knew this was a lie. He had seen the pain on the other's face. The Slav had a feeling this was a reaction he had gotten quite a lot of, and that honestly saddened him. Nobody deserves to be treated that way. Except Third and Soviet. Both of them could drown in the deepest bowels of hell’s fire for all he cared. Actually no, he didn't care. He couldn't care for them in the slightest.

Snap out of it Poland. You are straying from the current state of affairs.

“You are looking quite pretty, Poland. That dress really does suit you.”  
There was a blush creeping into Poland’s face, darkening the already rose colour and tingeing the upper white in pink. Hungary scoffed, a cloud of smoke billowing out from him. All three of them ignored him.

“I’m Canada, by the way. It’s nice to meet both of you,” Canada stretched his hand out, neither Czechia or himself grabbed it though. Their distrust of the stranger was still in full effect.  
Canada’s smile faltered and he chuckled nervously, pulling his hand up and scratching the nape of his neck. A glint of something metallic caught Poland's eye.

What is that?

“Yuo are tall…” Czechia murmured beside him.  
Canada raised an eyebrow, “Oh? And you are quite short.”  
“Vhat?! No am not!”  
“Yes you are. In a very cute way,” His smile was contagious, and Poland found himself grinning as well.  
Czech sputtered something in his own language and turned to look at Poland. “I not cute shorrt. Am I?”  
Poland widened his grin and nodded.  
He narrowed his eyes at him, “I hate both yuo.”

A soothing laugh emanated from the leaf faced country, and Poland strangely felt at ease. He didn't feel threatened in the slightest. Why had Hungary acted so hostile towards h…

Is that a collar?

Peeking through hair and the fur of his jacket, rested a loop of metal. The chrome silver blended in quite well to the rest of his attire, but not well enough. It still stuck out from the clothing; like a beacon in the middle of a dark forest. Curious, Poland stepped forward and reached up, brushing the locks of hair out of the way. He could feel the others’ eyes trained on him, watching the Slav act.

“Poland. What are you…” A sudden realization hit the Westerner and he jerked backwards, both hands flying up to his throat.  
“Non! No! Do not touch!”

Both Czechia and himself scrambled away, a bolt of fear passing through their features. That had not been the reaction he had expected. A pained expression flitted through the bicoloured country.

“Sorry! Sorry! I didn't intend to startle you,” Canada cried out, an instant change from angry to apologetic.

None of them spoke. By the expression in the leaf faced country’s eyes, he looked quite humiliated. A wave of guilt passed over Poland. This poor nation. All he wanted was to say hello. What motive lay behind that was unknown, but he had the gut feeling it wasn't anything inherently harming.

Hungary, who had mostly stayed out of all of this interaction, finally spoke up again.  
“Now zat yuo have been successful in vasted our valuable teime, can you pleese leave.”  
“Wow. Using manners now? That's a first,” Canada smiled sweetly, a sinister undertone lighting the statement.  
The shorter nation growled and blew a cloud of smoke into his face, earning a slight cough and a swipe through the air. Several moments passed before Canada spoke again.  
“Technically Poland here owns this land, therefore it is her choice whether or not I leave.”

All of their attention was now trained back on him, and he withered under their gaze.

“Vell?”

Poland panicked. Why had all this responsibility been placed on him?

His confusion must have been obvious in some way or another, as Canada smiled and nodded.   
“It’s alright. I’ll go. You three are obviously quite busy,” He started to walk away, but stopped and turned back, “Oh, right! Poland, I have something for you.”  
The Westerner reached into his coat, and unexpectedly pulled out a flower. Its orange petals seemed to glow in the subdued afternoon light.

Poland stared up at him, completely taken aback by this simple action. Was this really for him? A hesitant few seconds passed, before the Slav took the flower. The fragrance was almost overwhelming. Poland looked back up, the blush making and obvious reappearance.

“See you two around,” Canada said and stepped off into the rain. None of them said anything back. There was the somewhat muffled slam of a door, and the sputtering of an engine coming to life. The three Europeans watched the automobile slowly pull away, until it disappeared into the trees and weather. That's when Hungary blew up.

“You brainless ignorant assholes! What did you think you were doing back there? He can't be trusted!” Hungary yelled, basically frothing at the mouth with anger.   
“He is charming and funny and what do you have against him?” Czechia shouted back.  
“He is literally a criminal. The only reason he hasn't been euthanized is because America bailed him out. Are you literally that out of touch of current events?”

Poland paled.   
I’m sorry. He what now?

“Pardon?”   
“Yeah. Your new ‘friend’ is not so trustworthy after all.”  
“He… what did he do?”   
“Why does it matter to you?” Hungary did not elaborate, and the Western Slav got the feeling it was not something he particularly wanted to discuss, “Be wary if by some unfortunate reason you find yourself near him.”

But what did he do?

Hungary took one last drag of the cigarette and dropped it, grinding it into the porch and kicking the ashes off into the bushes below.   
“Come on Czech, we need to go.”  
“Where?”  
“Slovakia’s. I’m not babysitting you all day,” he hesitated for a second and slowly added onto the statement, “Unless, Poland wants to…”  
“Babysit? Babysit?! Excuse me! I’m an adult!”

Poland smirked at his friend and nodded, before prodding the half blind nation with a crutch. 

“You can't be serious! No! Poland! Hungary! NO! Why?” Hungary was now steering him towards the open door, completely disregarding his protests.  
“I’ll come back for him tomorrow morning. Is that all right?”  
“Maďarsko, I swear to god-”  
“Have fun you two,” and he was gone, dashing down to his own car, and quickly driving off.

Poland watched the pale cream coloured vehicle disappear into the precipitation and turned back to Czechia. He didn't look amused.

“I really hate you. You know that, right?”

Poland grinned, and poked his side. With a defeated sigh, the red, white, and blue nation begrudgingly made his way into the small home, Poland, groceries, and the butterscotch coloured flower following close behind. But just before he closed the thick door, the Slav turned, and whispered back into the damp afternoon void.

“See yuo lader Kanada. See yuo later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the best chapter I've written. Whatever.


	5. Canada

Canada was exhausted.

The last two days had taken a lot out of the northerner, both physically and emotionally. He couldn't quite remember the last time he had had this much activity in such a short period of time, and frankly he wished the quiet lifestyle he had adopted to come back. Socializing was just plain tiring. It was also anxiety inducing. 

He sighed and blankly stared out his windshield, watching the sparse traffic speed past him. He had stopped along the side of the road some time ago, hoping to calm down enough to function properly. That had obviously been a futile attempt. For some odd reason, Canada couldn’t shake the paranoia from earlier off. The ever constant feeling of eyes burning into the back of his skull had jacked his heart rate up to an unhealthy level. 

He groaned and buried his face into his shaking hands. What was wrong with him? He had seriously messed up both interactions with Poland and Russia. Where did his skills in public speaking go? Had they too disappeared along with his social life? Eloped to some land he knew nothing about and had no way of getting to? 

Canada let out another choked groan and ran his hands down his face, coming to a rest around his throat. The thick metal collar felt as if it was branding him. Suffocating him. Cutting into his flesh. The last one once true in a sense. On more than one occasion had he needed to wash away the blood that had run down into his clothing. That was a pain to do. Blood stains were almost impossible to get out of fabric. He had made it a habit to wear darker colour shirts just because of that.

A soft knock at his window made the bicoloured country almost faint from surprise. He jolted upwards, spinning to face the window, his breathing becoming sporadic. Someone stood outside, a subtle concern flashing through her eyes. It took a moment for Canada to realise she had stopped for him.

He let out a shaky sigh before reaching out and rolling down the sheet of glass separating him from the outside. The lady tilted her head ever so slightly, and finally spoke.  
“Ist alles in Ordnung?”  
Canada hesitated, just long enough to show the human he didn't understand her. A slight smile crossed her face, and she spoke again, this time in a language he could interpret.  
“Vu are French, ja?”

The northerner gave a numb nod, despite that not being entirely true.

“Zought zo,” she glanced at a passing car before continuing, “Are vu doing vell? Vu don’t hexactly look zat hot right apout now.”  
Well no shit Sherlock, half of me is in the Arctic.  
Canada opened his mouth, only to immediately close it. He couldn’t trust himself to not say something stupid.

A few moments passed and he sighed a response.  
“I’m fine, thank you. Just… tired.”  
“Mhm, right,” she didn't seem convinced, “Has your car proken dovn?”  
“What?” The question came out of nowhere, ”Oh, no. Sorry. I was just worried I would fall asleep and crash. Everything is fine. Yep.”

To prove a point, Canada reached out and twisted the key, his car’s engine rumbling to life. It was a waste of gas to just have it idling, and the vibrations now running through everything were nauseating, but the simple display seemed to satisfy this human’s strange concern for him. She smiled sweetly and took a step back.

“Vell, if zat's zee caze zen I’ll leaffe zu.”  
The Human began to walk away, and Canada was about to roll the window back up when she spun and raced back up to opening. A marker materialized in her hand and she reached out and pulled his arm up. The bicoloured country, shocked as he was, didn't resist. The moist felt tip rubbed against his wrist, pulling his red skin ever so slightly. 

“Zhere,” she said, letting go of his arm, “If vu effer vant to call me vu now haffe mein numper.”  
Canada blinked down at the numbers scrawled across the underside of his wrist, thoroughly confused as to why someone would willingly give out their personal details to a stranger. She chuckled and, as if reading his mind, giggled out an explanation.

“It's not mein acdual numper. I haffe ein old bhone zat I’ll uze ven creeby guys vant mein condact info,” she shuttered, smile still plastered across her face. There was a passing moment between the two, before she hastily added, “Not zat vu are. I chust don't know vu vell enough.”  
Canada nodded slightly and let his eyes wander to the surrounding trees. They swayed in the autumn wind, creating an almost buzzing feeling in his head.

A quiet exhale from himself apparently signified the end of their unprecedented interaction, and the unnamed human murmured a soft goodbye. She threw one last worried glance over her shoulder and walked away, trudging across the road, and to what Canada presumed was her vehicle.

And then she too was gone, disappearing around the bend in the road, leaving the small stretch of pavement virtually empty. The silence was broken only by the obnoxious hum of his car’s engine. Canada blinked slowly, his vision beginning to blur. It took a second to realise he was tearing up. The northerner shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, sliding forward until his body rested entirely on the steering wheel. 

You are relying off of mere humans to feel any sort of validation, Candy. How low has your life sunk?  
He just wanted to collapse and sob- cry for an eternity- before disappearing entirely. The suffocating constricting feeling in his throat was not helping anything either. He was choking on unshed tears.

His trembling hands once again found their way to the collar and without thinking he began to tug on it. The sharp edges cut against his flesh, but, in a somewhat morbid way, it was calming.

“Okay. Okay. Pull yourself together. You can't just keep apologizing for every little thing you do,” he whispered to himself and then let out a strained laugh. Oh the irony in that simple statement.

Canada, with a surprisingly large effort, forced himself into an acceptable sitting position and looked up at the rear-view mirror. It took no time to realise he really did in fact not look well. He looked haunted; something once great, eaten away until all that remained was a hollow shell. No wonder someone had stopped to ask him about his health.

The bicoloured nation let out a harsh exhale, and slowly rubbed his eyes. He was tired. Tired of being himself. Tired of being forgotten and hated. Canada was just tired of existing. There was no denying that. A small part of him that wanted to just leave. Vanish. Run away to the arctic and live there for the rest of eternity. But he couldn’t. He had duties as a country, and no matter how far he distanced himself from them, they wouldn't become obsolete. 

Canada shook off the daze that had befallen over him and looked around. Not much had changed in the time he had been dealing with his existential crises. The road had seemingly been deserted, given the fact no vehicles had passed in some time, and relentless wind still battled against the trees, fighting for an ungiving dominance. It was almost poetic.

The leaf faced country again reached up and wiped away what residue remained in his eyes, forcing a shy smile onto his face. A small one, barely even there. As unhappy as he was at the moment, Canada knew it would make him feel better. Smiling, no matter the size or length, never failed to cheer him up. That might be the only thing he truly liked about himself. The Canadian sighed and, hopefully for the last time, looked up at his reflection. He still felt uneasy, and his face certainly gave that away, but at least he no longer looked haunted. 

A beam of light cut it’s way through the above clouds, showering the surrounding land in a warm late afternoon glow. The windows of whatever distant settlement sparkled back at him, magnified by the moisture from the earlier downpour. The Northerner joyfully watched as more and more sunshine filtered through.

The small slight smirk had grown, and Canada was thrilled to find this one was not forced. He laughed gently, trying not to scare this timid animal of an emotion away and glanced back into the mirror. He looked better with a smile, Canada had to admit that much.

With a final heavy exhale, Canada reached out and shifted the car's gear, turning his head to look for non-existent traffic. Where everyone had gone, he didn't quite know, and for the most part he didn't care. He preferred driving on empty roads anyway. It greatly reduced the risk of getting into some sort of fatal accident.

And then he was moving, slowly integrating himself back onto the main road. The gradual increase of speed had once been exciting; something he had always gotten serotonin from. It wasn’t special anymore. It was no longer anything new or exciting. It was a daily part of life, whether he wanted it to be or not. A noisy, expensive, inconvenience in his dull, non adventurous life. He couldn’t deny though, that the vehicle was a great way to get to beautiful places much quicker. To places in general much quicker.

The surroundings began to blur together and he leaned back, letting his autopilot take over. This was going to take a while and he might as well relax in that time.

<-<_V_>->

Germany lived in a castle, and in all honesty that wasn't an overstatement. The four story, spire filled manor sat on the very edges of Southern Thale, hidden within the mess of foliage. A thick wall surrounded the estate, connecting directly into the house, providing a private courtyard.  
The whole place was almost something out of a fairy tale, had it not been so run down, though there was nothing against places like this not being fantastical.

Canada suspected that it had not always been the case though, the rundown part of it anyway. Actually no, he was certain it had not been. There was a photograph, he remembered, of the place just weeks after its competition. Although grainy, and most certainly outdated, it clearly showed the place being grand as if more more so than many of the lands castles. Full of life and happiness. A hundred years ago this place was considered miraculous. 

The contrast between then and those many years ago was almost unimaginable. Now it just appeared in ruins. The shingles and siding had been worn away, bricks lined various places along the building weathered away, and the many windows were covered in grime and dirt. At least the rampart looked half decent. It was overgrown with ivy, but aside from that it still stood strong and high.

The Bicoloured country slowly edged his vehicle up to the entry gate, tarnished iron bars stopping him from entering the property. He stared out at them, unsure if they were unlocked, and if so, whether or not it was right to enter. Decisions, decisions. He both loved and hated them. They gave him meaning to life, a choice as to what he could do, but at the same time there was always that chance they would ruin everything you worked for. The latter was what tended to happen to him.

He sighed and opened the door to his car, ignoring the annoying beeping. The monotone brick path crunched under his feet and Canada flinched. He doubted that was supposed to happen. Rock, especially one making up a road, should not be crunchy. 

Canada stared up at the archway as he passed under, marvelling at the beauty of it. Up close he could see every crack and scratch and dent, flakes of rock missing and patches of lush green moss; most certainly indicators of an eventful past. If only every place could tell its history in such an aesthetically pleasing w-

**Clank**

The northerner stumbled back, taken by surprise at how loud the sound of a human against metal was. He stood there in shock, before shaking the ‘deer in the headlights’ expression off his face and snorting. 

_You just ran into something you knew damn well was there. Real bright of you, innit? Let's just pray Germs doesn’t check his security cameras that often. That would be embarrassing._

…

_But hey, the gate is open._

The gate was in fact, slightly ajar, having seemingly been knocked open by Canada's inability to see past half a foot. Thankfully the hinges on the thing hadn’t rusted enough to pose any sort of mobility issue, despite it looking so from further away. He slightly wished it had been though. That would have been the perfect excuse not to talk to Germany. 

With a quiet sigh, Canada pushed the metal bars open, a painful screeching filling the otherwise quiet air, and started back to the still running vehicle. 

The stones didn't look quite as majestic through the windows or his car. The discolouration and blur took away it’s originality, giving it the same dull appearance as everything else in this godforsaken planet. That sight didn't last long though, and he found himself in the walls of Germany’s estate. He drove up the path a little further, before stopping and shutting off the engine. 

The grounds were more or less in better condition than the house. Although they were heavily overgrown and filled with obvious weeds, it still looked quite natural; something one might see in a botanical garden. It certainly needed some touching up however. The few spots of grass had become ragged, and the bushes that spotted raised flower beds looked more like mini jungles than they did domesticated plants. It brought him memories of nights with him and his family would watch science fiction movies back in the late sixties, though for what reason he did not know.

He turned and gradually made his way up the cobbled path and to the large house he had come here for. The cracked statues of eagles that sat at the base of the steps glared at him, their blank stone eyes expressing more emotion than some other countries he knew. He chuckled at that thought. 

When he finally got up the flight of stairs and to the landing, Canada gently knocked on the thick spruce door. It’s rough surface felt comforting in a way; a familiar texture to his cabin home back in Alberta. He missed it a lot, despite only being away for a day and a half. 

There was no answer.

_Is he home? His schedule always said he got off at four. It is past four, right?_

He reached out and rapped on the door, louder this time. There was again no response. The Canadian stared at the door, feeling ever so slightly dejected. He really wasn't here?

Canada started to turn away when a muted ‘chink’ came from behind the thick wood barrier. Second s later, the large door opened. 

The first thing Canada noticed about the younger country was how underdressed he was. It was almost shocking as to how unprofessional he appeared. The normal dress suit one generally saw him in was all but gone. So were most of his other clothes, though that was probably to be expected. He was, after all, in his own house.

The next thing he noticed was the almost overwhelming stench of beer. It hit him like a tsunami, and the bicolour had to fight back the urge to gag. He liked that particular alcohol just as much as the next person, but this. This was just a tad bit overboard.

Germany blinked and raised his head up at him, a look of utter confusion on his tired face. His gold wire rimmed glasses sat askew on his nose, threatening to slip off at any moment. 

There was a passing moment of silence, before he scrunched up his face, and slurred out a question. “Vats arre zuo doingk heerre?”  
Canada blinked at him, struggling to decipher the heavy accent. It was almost worse than Russia’s, and that was really saying something.  
“Pardon? I… uh… didn't quite catch what you said.”  
Germany looked back at the Northerner, annoyance clearly displayed on his face.

“I asked vy yuo are here. On mein property,” he said, gesturing to the poorly kept lawns. 

Canada understood him that time, and felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. He vaguely recalled Austria once speaking about her nephew’s distaste of surprise visits, and how irritated he got with them. At the time he had thought nothing of it, given the fact he had not seen any need to visit the German on such short notice, but now. He dearly wished he had remembered that small seemingly nonsense detail.

“Ah, right. Yeah. I just came to talk about the meeting and-”

The Germans demeanour almost did a backflip, morphing from annoyance, to something more accurately described as timid. “I’m zo zorry,” There was an edge of nervousness in his voice, “I zought EU vould pe less hybocridical zis time around. He normally doesn’t act zis vay.”

Canada sheepishly looked down at the shorter country, and gave a, hopefully, comforting smile.  
“It’s perfectly alright. I honestly needed the social interaction, as little and negative as it was,” he chuckled, more to himself than anything, and let out a quiet sigh. There was an uneasy silence between the two, broken only by the whistling of wind in the surrounding flora.

Canada again spoke.   
“No, I came wondering if you are feeling alright. You didn’t sound or look all that well then. Admittedly you still don’t but-”  
“Mein health is none of your concern,” The tricoloured nation snapped, an air of unhappiness finding itself once again in his possession, “Und for your hinformazion I’m doing berfectly fine!”  
Canada scowled. “I’m trying to be nice, _Doucheland_ ,” he purposely mispronounced the other’s name, “But someone is being extremely difficult.”  
“Oh, don't pe zo harsch on yourzelf. Not all of us are zuided for effery zituazion life throvs at us.”

A surge of rage spiked it’s way through the bicoloured nation and he took a step forward, fists clenched, ready to strike if so needed. Germany stepped back, genuine fear sparking its way through his features. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They just glared at each other, a look of malice melted to both of their faces. Canada felt sad knowing it was not at all difficult to find reason for it.

“ _If vu zo much as preathe on me, I’ll haffe vu but pack in chail zo help me gott_ ,” the others' voice suddenly cut through the air, the chilling venom that dripped from it giving Canada goosebumps. Another tension filled pause, and Germany finally broke eye contact muttering something under his breath.  
“It’s bronounced Deutschland.”

Another curt silence

Canada sighed, closed his eyes, and let out a heavy exhale. This was going just _perfect_.

“Hi, let’s start over,” He brought his hand back to his chest, “I’m Canada, though you know that already. I came because I was concerned about you. How are you doing?”   
He once again smiled down at him, fully expecting there to be given some sarcastic remark, but none came. In fact, much to the Northerner's surprise, he seemed to just lose all hostility. The scowl that he had sported slowly melted into a tired grimace, and then that to a quivering frown. 

“Germs? Are…” Canada's voice faded out, becoming indistinguishable with the heavy breeze around them. Germany let out a long, strained exhale and slowly slumped against the doorframe, closing his eyes in the process.   
“Nein. I don't zink I am…”   
The leaf faced country almost didn't hear him. The soft murmur floated through the air like a single particle of dust in a blinding sandstorm; almost unnoticed. A solid minute of unbroken silence filled the space around them, awkwardness gradually seeping in.

_Can I do something?_  
…  
 _Should I even do anything?_

Canada internally grimaced. No, he really shouldn’t. Germany hated him. That was a fully well known fact, and nobody even tried to deny it like they did everything else. He shouldn't even be here right now. But he couldn't just up and leave either. That would leave him guilty for the rest of his living days. Abandoning a friend- no, an ex friend- when they were obviously not feeling well was horrific just thinking about.

The northerner let out a strained exhale. Why was he so soft? It used to help him, at least most of the time, but now all it accomplished was getting him into more trouble. His kindness had time and time again not been the right answer, so why would it be now? That didn't necessarily mean It couldn't work though, but the odds of it were quite slim. It never hurt to try though, could it?

He tentatively reached out, paused, and gently patted Germany's shoulder. Or tried to. As soon as his hand brushed up against the Germanic country’s shoulder, the other lashed out and dragged him down until they were eyes to eye. A very tense few seconds snaked its way through the two, and Canada felt himself become genuinely scared. He had again done something wrong.

“Don't touch me vu… vu…” for whatever reason, he couldn't seem to finish the sentence. The Northerner, though wishing he could know what was about to be said, silently thanked whatever deity, if any, had stopped him from having to endure the harsh words of his colleague. Canada let the sadistic smile he had been holding back peek through, his eyes glowing ever so slightly brighter, reflected by the thick glass spectacles of the other.

“Are you gonna report me? I can simply say I was trying to comfort you during a difficult time,” the last part was said with so much hatred that Canada didn't know if it was really even him speaking.   
“I can alzo menzion how it vas hunvarranded und vizout mein hexbress bermizion,” Germany growled back, having seemingly recovered from his shock enough to spit out a retort.  
“Making false acquisitions?” He snorted, “Did you take that trait from Japan?”  
“CHapan is ein trustvorthy hindiffidual-”  
“And I am not?” Canada cut in, hurt filling the simple statement  
There was a pause, and the Northerner felt a twinge of excitement. He had successfully shut Germany up, even if for but a moment. 

The aptly mentioned country glared across at him, before dropping his wrist and looking away. Canada quickly stood back up to his full height, smoothing out the wrinkles in his coat, then crossed his arms.

“Now that we have come to an agreement-”  
It was Germany's turn to interrupt. “For your hinformazion, ve haffe decited on nein Hagreement. Ve didn't effen talk of one to begin vith.”  
“Great observation! I’m glad you were paying attention!”   
The other harrumphed.

Neither spoke for a solid minute. The subtle background wind was kicking up again, washing them in a cold wave of air, filling the silence with white noise. 

Canada sighed. Oh how he wished he could fly. He had heard from Mexico and Wales and Egypt that soaring on windy days was the best feeling in the world. Of course he didn't know if that was true, and in all honesty he doubted he would ever find out. He did, after all, lack any sort of flying apparatus. And if Canada was being honest, heights were not a strong suit of his.

“I zuboze it vould pe rude of me not to ask vu in,” The heavily accented sigh of Germany pushed the northerners thoughts back into reality, and he sharpened his focus.  
“Pardon?”   
The tricoloured country looked at him, a slight spot of annoyance flickering through his face, before pushing the calm one on and repeating the question. “Vould yuo care to come in?”

He could feel the baffled stare creeping into his gaze. Germany wanted to... invite him in?  
“Are… are okay? Sick?” he began to reach out in order to search for any sign of abnormal body temperature, but stopped himself and brought his hand back to himself.  
“Chust pecauze I am schoving vu pazic kindness, desbite zee fact I don't pelieffe vu dezerffe any, does not mean I’m unvell,” Germany stated snarkily, crossing his own arms, “Und pezides, it’s cold out here. I vould brefer zomeblace ein pit varmer.”

_Oh! Right. Other countries can't handle the cold like I can._

Canada nodded slightly, paused, and nodded again, this time without hesitation  
“I’m open to whatever you want.”  
“Of courze vu are. Vu can’t get into trouple zat vay.”

Surprisingly enough, Canada hadn't been thinking about that. The mention of it however, brought his elated mood down to a new low and he found himself physically slouching. A pained grimace crossed Germany, but he didn't say anything. Instead he opened his door further and stepped back to let Canada through.

Canada had to do a double take at the interior of the younger country’s place. He expected some lavish manor, filled with trinkets and riches and all manner of wealth. What he found was quite the opposite. The state of the place looked almost as bad as the outside, if not even more so. 

What he noticed right off was how dark the place was. That and the dust. It floated in clouds through the musty air, highlighted by the few rays of sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains. 

The Germanic nation closed and locked the door behind them, the soft click of the latch echoing through the abandoned room. Canada looked down and back at him. From behind he appeared hunched over, tight, nervous even. His hair curled in odd directions, snarling at the ends. He really wanted to run his fingers through it and untangle the knots. And he was looking back at his face. The dark brown irises made his eyes look like pools of inky blackness.

“Are vu done sdaring at me?”  
Canada startled and jumped backwards before nodding vigorously. The younger country just looked at him, an indescribable emotion twitching onto his face. Pity? Sadness? Frustration? As good as he was at reading others emotions, this one just wouldn't process. And it was gone, shuffling away along with Germany. The northerner spun on his heel and scampered behind him.

The further in he got, the more surprised and even saddened the northerner became. Most of Germany's furniture had been covered and pushed to the walls, and what remained looked like it hadn't been used in ages. The thick layer of dust and cobwebs very much supported that not so wild claim. The whole place looked abandoned. Did he really live like this? It seemed absolutely miserable.

They turned down what appeared to be a small corridor, the vaulted ceiling disappearing into darkness. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, he realised it was not a hallway, but instead a kitchen. The smell of beer had only gotten stronger upon entering.

This room looked the most homely out of all the others he had seen, though that number could easily be counted on one hand. Instead of empty walls, there were actually paintings hung up, and the wood floor sported an, albeit a bit old, rug. It still lacked the furniture though; the only things in there being a table and a pair of simple wooden chairs.

“Here,” the German said, walking over and pulling the other seat out from under the table, ”Sit.” 

Canada almost instantly complied, taking the few steps to the wood chair, not wanting to anger him further than he already had. The soft patting of his ‘host’s’ feet against the wood floor echoed through the empty kitchen dining room combo, and a second later, the universal sound of a refrigerator opening reached his ears. Only then did Canada finally look up and across the still fairly dark room. Germs stood, shuffling through the contents of his fridge.

He stared back at him, before sighing and turning to the cluttered table. Stacks upon stacks of papers and folders littered it’s surface, messily shoved around in no particular order. Canada had to physically restrain himself from reaching out and sorting through them.

A soft ‘thunk’ of something hitting the table beside him startled the Northerner, and the object that had produced the sound. A bottle of beer, the slight glow of his eyes magnified in the glass and its amber liquid. The Germanic nation sighed and dragged himself around the table.

Germany mindlessly swiped the mess of books, papers, and folders away - many of them fluttering to the wooden floor below - before collapsing into the nearby chair. A sudden flash of light expanded out before them, temporarily blinding the Westerner. When the haze cleared, Germany’s laptop sat open, pushing back the shroud of darkness that enveloped the room itself. 

He glanced down at the glass bottle, fully noting the slow formation of condensation on it and the flakes of ice in the liquid itself. He smirked and raised his eyebrows at the other.  
“Cold beer? I thought you hated cold beer.”  
Germany grunted in response but didn't look up from his laptop. The quiet tapping of keys and shuffling paper echoed throughout the room, no sign of ceasing anytime soon.  
Canada snorted, pulling the tricoloured nations’ attention further up to him. “Are you beginning to take after Thailand?”  
Germany scowled, stopped typing, and sighed out a response. “Du bist wirklich, wirklich ärgerlich. Sie wissen das richtig?”  
Canada blinked, his mind completely devoid of any plausible translation to what the other had just said. He suspected though, it had not been anything very positive. 

He leaned forward, resting both elbows on the smooth tabletop, lacing his fingers together. “Listen here buddy. I can't understand your language, so if it isn't too much trouble, could you please speak English when you want me to understand something? Eh?” The satire dripping from the northerner’s voice would have surprised him in any other situation, but right now it seemed quite fitting. 

Germany stared at him a few moments before introducing yet another unhappy expression to his ever growing collection.   
“Natürlich nicht. Sie sind mit anderen Sprachen nutzlos. Gott. Warum kannst du nicht einfach mehr wie dein Bruder sein? Zumindest bemüht er sich um zwischenmenschliche Beziehungen.”

This, Canada knew, was directed towards him, and certainly not in a good way. Every indicator told him he was a threat- that he needed to run- yet the demeanour of the younger country seemed just as calm as it had been, if not even more relaxed than before. He didn't question the meaning of that statement. He didn't particularly want to know. He took a few sips of the liquid, trying to calm himself.

After yet another pause between them. There were a lot of them it seemed. Germany took another long drink, finishing off the bottle.

Canada felt as if he was intruding; knew he was. The background feeling he had repeatedly been burying returned, stronger than ever before. He had come here uninvited, and disrespected the owner; someone who could get the accusations taken off his record. What a piece of work he had become.   
“You know, I should probably go,” said Canada, setting down his own half empty bottle of beer. Germany’s head snapped upwards, finally throwing the glasses off his face. The sharp clatter echoed through the chamber, and both of its occupants flinched.

“G-go? Vy?” Germany stuttered, leaning over in order to retrieve his spectacles,   
“What do you mean ‘why’? I’m obviously a bother to you,” Canada stated, pushing his chair back and standing.  
“Nein! Don't go! I…” he was standing too now, staring up at the northerner, a panicky expression on his face.  
Canada raised an eyebrow. This was an unexpected turn of events.

“Are you bipolar,” the lack of emotion in the simple statement froze the German in place. He just stared at him, wide eyed, and Canada felt a pang of guilt. He didn't express this guilt however. Instead he stuffed his hand into his pockets and walked out of the kitchen. 

It didn't take all that much time to hear the padding feet of Germany coming up close behind him. A small click came with every footfall.

“Vy are vu leaffing? Is it mein fault?”  
Canada glanced over his shoulder at the short country hurrying after him. He was breathing quite heavily, an apparent indicator he wasn't in the best of shape.  
“No. It’s not your fault. I… just have to get home. It’s quite late and I’m tired,” Not quite a lie, but certainly not the truth either. A white lie.  
“Oh…” the other’s soft voice was lost to the darkness of the house, “Are zu sore?”

He nodded and mumbled something nonsense in French, before turning to the entryway, unfastening the lock, and stepping back out onto the windy porch.

“Goodbye Germs. And sorry,” Canada smiled weakly, hoping desperately that he hadn't been too much of an asshole. He turned away, a constricting feeling closing off his throat. He was a failure; a worthless excuse for a country. He should be stripped of the tile of one of top ten most polite countries in the world. He was not worthy of-

“Hey Kanada!” 

The Westerner startled at the mention of his name. It didn't sound at all muffled, even through the heavy breeze that swallowed him and everything else in the surrounding.

“Do vu vant to ko get lunch zomedime next veek? I’ll haffe ein pit of time off zen,” The same voice, Germany’s voice, bounded out to him. He sounded sober now, no longer tipsy.

Canada stopped walking and turned back to the house, the strangest and most confused expression plastered to his face. Germany stood at the edge of his porch, leaning out slightly. His robe fluttered in the wind, but that was not what was distracting him. What came as the most surprise was the hopeful smile he was displaying. Did Germany really want Canada to say yes?

“I mean,” Germany yelled again, “Vu don't haffe to if vu don't vant. I only zought vu might like zome different scenery zan vat vu get at your blace.”  
Canada blinked up at him, then smiled and tilted his head.  
“I’d love to!”  
“Great! I’ll zee yu zen… I guess!” He waved and Canada felt a spark of happiness make its way through his entire being. Maybe this not quite friendship could be slightly salvaged. He could convince Germany he was innocent and get a better name for himself and-

_Don't get too ahead of yourself now, at least for the time being. You will be doing nothing of the sort. Germany will warm up to you when he wants. If he wants._

Canada sighed and chuckled softly. That day might not be today, or even anytime soon, but the door to the future was not yet locked. He had much to look forward to.

_As for now though, I’m going home and sleeping for the rest of eternity._

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no clue how to use this website, so this should be fun. 
> 
> Repost from my Wattpad. I just thought I might as well get an account here, ya know.
> 
> Open to all criticism. 
> 
> :)


End file.
